“It's John.” I
replied. “Is that you Pete?” I asked.
My school friend poked
his head out from behind the door. My jaw dropped and my eyes grew to
the size of saucers as he stepped out to reveal himself. “Mum
always makes me dress like this at home.” Peter meekly told me.
“That's why I never ask anyone to come round.”
I tore my eyes from him
and panned around his room. “Is this all your stuff?” I asked. I
couldn't think of anything better to say.
“I don't like any of
it.” Peter claimed. “Mum just buys it for me... I think she
wishes I was a girl.” he muttered.
“That's not true!”
his mother said as she appeared behind me. She must have been
listening from the corridor. “There's no reason why boys can't wear
nice clothes too.” she said before asking me if I had any 'nice'
clothes at home. I shook my head. “Oh that's a shame.” she said.
“would you like some?” she asked.
“Er... not really. I
don't think my Mum would approve.” I stammered. This is a pretty
weird exchange by anyone's reckoning, but it got even stranger when
she said I'd never know unless I asked. She turned to Peter and
suggested he show me his dollies.
“I don't think he's
interested in those Mum.” Peter sheepishly replied as my jaw hit
the floor. When he corrected himself and said “Mummy.” my jaw hit
the basement floor!
Pete's mother asked if
we'd like a drink of juice fetching, but we both declined, she left
us alone. Pete looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole.
“Sorry Peter... I wouldn't have called if I’d known.” I said,
before assuring him that I'd not tell a soul about this. I glanced at
his clothes rails and it's resplendent display of prissy dresses. The
shelf above is home to a handbag, a dummy head with pink bonnet
perched on it, various cute cuddly toys and a variety of other girlie
items. A large book titled My Princess Diary also sits there. Peter
himself isn't actually wearing a dress, but he may as well be. On his
feet is a pair of pale blue girl's shoes with two buckled straps,
both decorated with a blue leather bow. He wears a pair of white lace
knee socks with frills around their cuffs, and pale blue shorts with
no pockets, no button or even a zip fly. His white shirt is clearly a
girl's blouse as it has pale blue frilly trim around the collar as
well as around the cuffs of its short puffed sleeves. Beneath it I
spy the tell tale lacy trim of what I assume is a girl's vest. I try
not to think about whether he's wearing knickers too. “I'd better
go Pete.” I said, before once again assuring him that his secret is
safe with me.
When I arrived home, my
mother asked what I'd been up to and said “Just knocking about. I
got bored so I came home.”
“Didn't you call for
your friend Peter?” she asked, since that what I said I was doing
when I left.
I lied and told her he
wasn't in before going to my own room. “Thank God I don't have
Pete's mother!” I thought as I entered my own 'normal' bedroom.
The next time I saw
Peter was on Monday at school. He was very sheepish around me,
probably because he thinks I'll have told everyone what I'd
witnessed. I thought it best not to mention it as school could be the
only time he can be a normal boy. I did tell him that he could call
round to my place if he wants. “If you're allowed.” I said.
“I might be allowed
after school one day.” he replied. “But I'll have to ask.”
A few days later, Peter
did come round to my house after school. I showed off my collection
of Airfix models, my remote control car and various other gadgets.
Peter said he used to make Airfix models and also used to have some
of the same board games as me, before his mother got rid of all his boyish games. We played Escape from Colditz, but didn't
finish as Peter's mother came to collect him at 5.00pm sharp. Mum
called us both downstairs and Peter's mother stood in the hallway
chatting with my mother. She seems nice enough on the surface but
having seen how she treats her son, all I see is a weird freak of a
woman.
“What have you two
been up to?” she asks. “Oh that sounds nice. What game were you
playing?”
“Escape from
Colditz.” I replied, before briefly describing the game's premise.
“You know how I feel
about war toys Peter.” his mother said. She turned to my mother and
said that she felt that toys such as tanks and guns, soldiers and
swords are unsuitable for children and as such she'd stopped Peter
from playing with them some years ago. My mother agreed in principle,
but felt they were harmless enough since children do know the
difference between real life and pretending.
“Yes of course they
do.” Peter mother smiled. “I'd just rather buy my children nicer
things than toy guns or model tanks.” she added. Mum asked after
her other children. “Peter's the youngest of three. His big sister
Judith is in year twelve and his brother Martin is doing his A
levels.”
“Oh that's nice.”
Mum replied. “It's just me and John here.”
“Well he seems like a
very nice boy.” Peter mother said as she she glanced at me and
smiled. “Come on Peter... let's get you home and out of that
uniform.” she chirped.
“She seems nice.”
Mum said after they'd gone. I was tempted to say otherwise and tell
her what I know, but I heeded my promise to Peter and half heartedly
agreed with her. “She said that you did call round the other day
and Peter was in.” my mother informed me. “Do you want to tell me
why you lied?”
The first thing I did
was try to think of a viable excuse, but with nothing forthcoming I
told her the truth. “He seemed really embarrassed and I promised I
wouldn't tell anyone... so I told you he wasn't in.” I explained
before saying “Sorry.”
“Well that's
understandable.” Mum replied. “I suppose it would have been a bit
of a shock if you didn't know he was being petticoated.”
“Was what?” I
asked. “Petticoated??” I quizzed.
“You know when you
were naughty and I used to make you sit on the naughty step, stop you
from watching TV or take away your favourite toy?” She asked. I
nodded. “Well sometimes when boys are naughty they have to wear
girl's clothes and that's called Petticoating.” she explained.
“Although there's more to it than that.”
“It was more than
just girl's clothes in Peter's room.” I replied. “He has dolls
and cuddly teddy bears, a pink bed, handbags and headbands... there's
even a painting of Tinker Bell on his wall!”
Mum said that she
presumes Peter is not being petticoated because he's naughty, but
because he's vulnerable. “Sometimes if they're gullible or easily
led, petticoating is employed to make sure they don't go off the
rails and to stop them getting involved in the wrong crowd.”
“That's really mean.”
I replied. “Especially if he's done nothing wrong.”
“It isn't really.”
Mum claimed. “In fact it comes highly recommended as a
non-confrontational method of discipline because all it involves is a
simple change of clothes.”
“Yeah but... they
weren't normal girl's clothes, they were really horrible!” I said
as I visualised the rail in his room. “The sorts of dresses that
most girls would refuse to wear; all pink and frilly with bows,
flowers and...” I drew my description to a close with a puke mime.
Mum smiled and nodded
and said, “That's the style they wear when petticoated.”
“It's horrible.” I
baulked.
“Well I wouldn't say
that.” Mum replied. “I think 'too nice' is more appropriate.”
she suggested.
Either way, it's not
something I want to think about. I glanced at the time and figured
Peter would be home by now. I recalled his mother saying 'let's get
you home and out of that uniform' and figured he'd be wearing
something girlie by now... but I didn't want to think about it. I
returned to my room and put the Colditz game away. Peter said he used
to have this game as well as some of the same model tanks and planes
as me, which means he used to be a normal boy. I wondered what he did
when his mother first petticoated him; was he willing or did he put
up a fight? I can't imagine the former so settled for the latter of
the two possibilities... but I didn't want to think about it.
A few weeks later,
Peter said. “It's my birthday next week and Mum asked if you wanted
to come for tea.”
I told him I'd like to
but would have to check with my mother first. “What day?” I
asked.
“Tuesday.” Peter
replied. “The 6th... but I'll forewarn you.” he added,
“I have to wear my party dress. I tried to get out of it but Mum
wouldn't budge.” He hung his head and I said I hoped I wouldn't
have to wear a dress too. “You're not petticoated like me.” he
replied. I told him that I’d have to check with my mother first.
I wasted no time
telling my mother that Peter had invited me to his birthday when I
arrived home. “I know.” Mum replied. “An invitation came
through the letterbox this afternoon.” she told me. “I assume his
mother popped it round.” she said as she passed me the card.
“Peter warned me that
he'll have to wear a dress.” I said as I took the card; pink and
white striped with a print of a pink satin bow and the words Peter's
Birthday Party written on the front. On the reverse it says 'You're
invited to join us in celebration of Peter's 13th
Birthday Party'. The whole thing is pink and girlie, even the ornate
lettering makes his name look girlie. I feel sorry for him. He
doesn't have many friends and I guess I really should accept the
invitation, but if he'll be wearing one of his prissy dresses, maybe
I should decline. “I'm not sure if he wants me to go or if his
mother told him to invite me.” I said. “I got the feeling he'd
rather I didn't.”
“What makes you say
that?” Mum asked.
“I just think he'd
rather keep his friends and his home-life separate.” I said. “He
never invites anyone around and he wasn't happy when I called
unannounced that time.” I added.
“But he has invited
you.” Mum said. “He might be upset if you don't go... and if he
doesn't have many friends it won't be very nice celebrating his
birthday alone.”
“If I had to wear a
dress on my birthday I think I'd rather celebrate alone.” I
replied, adding that it would be a pretty weird 'party' with Peter
having to wear a dress. “I'd feel out of place.”
“Not necessarily.”
Mum replied. “You could show him some solidarity and wear one too.”
First of all, I flat
refused. Secondly, I asked what solidarity meant and thirdly I
reminded my mother that I'm not petticoated like Peter.
The first thing Mum
said was that solidarity means unity and that I should stand by and
support my friend. “You may not be petticoated like Peter is, but
that's no reason why you can't put yourself out for once.” was the
second thing she said, and third and finally she asked me how I'd
feel if my best friend snubbed me on my birthday.
“I'm not snubbing him
Mum.” I whined. “I just don't think he wants me to go and I don't
really want to go either.”
Mum gave me one of
those looks. “Well I'm disappointed in you John. I thought you were
a better friend than that.” she said.
The following day at
school, Peter asked me if I'd asked my Mum if I could attend his
party. Reluctantly I said I had. “And?” he asked. “Are you
coming?”
I shrugged and said, “I
dunno.” I explained that I have a feeling he'd rather I didn't go,
“Considering how things are for you at home... maybe you'd rather
your schoolmates didn't go there.” I told him. He rephrased the
question and asked if I 'wanted' to go. “I would if you didn't have
to wear a dress.” I replied. “But my Mum's telling me that I
should wear one too.” I added with great reluctance.
“Well in that case...
if I were you I wouldn't go.” Peter said. “Dresses are
horrible... no one should have to wear them, not even girls.”
I couldn't help but
agree with him, and since so many girls spent most of their time
wearing boyish clothes, he's probably right. “Thing is.” I
began... with a trembling voice I told him that my mother had said that if
I refuse to go, then she's no option but to consider petticoating me.
“How long for?”
Peter asked.
“I dunno I didn't
ask.” I replied. “How long have you been petticoated for?”
Peter gulped and said,
“Since I was eight.”
“EIGHT!” I almost
yelped. I quickly deducted eight from his current age of twelve and
said. “That's four years!”
“It'll be five years
next Tuesday.” he confessed. “It started on my eighth birthday.”
“Blimey.” I
couldn't imagine how he must feel having spent five long years
wearing nothing but girls clothes. “So the only time you can wear
boy's clothes is at school?” I asked. Peter nodded. I gulped and
spent a few seconds weighing up my options. “I guess I'd rather
wear one for your party than risk having to wear one all the time.”
That evening, my mother
asked me if I'd made my mind up about Peter's party. With great
reluctance I told her I'd go and that I'd wear a dress if I have to.
A broad grin swept my mother's face. She told me that it can't have
been and easy choice to make and said she was proud of me for taking
the not so easy option. “Well I'd rather wear one for just
one day than have to wear one everyday like Peter does.” I replied.
“So you have taken
the easy option?”
“Well... I'd hardly
call it easy... but it seems easier.”
On
Saturday morning my mother insisted that I have a bath before we go
in to town. “Why?” I moaned, not wanting to miss any of the
Saturday morning TV more than anything.
“Because we're going
to find you a party dress and you need to be nice and clean.” she
replied.
“Today!” I whined.
“Well when do you
suggest?” Mum asked. “Tomorrow when the shops are shut, or Monday
whilst you're at school?” she suggested. I would have said 'never'
but I've sighed up to this and I can tell that my mother isn't going
to let me change my mind. I went up to the bathroom and found the
bath already full of fragrant bubbles. Of course I complained and
said it stank of flowers. “Like I say... I want you nice and
clean... not just clean.” Mum said. “Now come on, jim-jams off
and in.” she said as she pushed up her sleeves and dunked a big
pink sponge into the water.
“I can do it myself!”
I insisted as my mother appeared to be preparing to give me a bath.
My mother said she wanted to make sure that I'm nice and clean, and
the minimal fuss method is if she does it. I felt like a little kid
as my mother washed and rinsed my hair before scrubbing my arms,
shoulders, chest, back and belly with a luffa. Then she stood me up
and scrubbed my bits, my bum and my legs. I complained the the luffa
was hurting me but Mum said it's only because I’m not used to
having a proper wash. I couldn't wait to hide myself beneath the foam
topped water, where she scrubbed my feet and toes. Mum rooted beneath
the bubbles for the big pink sponge and gave it to me. “Here, you
sponge yourself off.” she said before leaving me alone in the bath.
At least the sponge felt a lot nicer than the luffa did. In fact it
was very soothing after the vigorous scrub my mother had given me.
I dried myself and got
dressed. I noticed that my skin smelled like the bath did and turned
my nose up at it. Mum asked if I was ready and I asked if I could
watch the rest of the Saturday morning TV show I always watched.
“No.” was her reply.
As she drove us to town
I felt more than a hint of defiance growing in my belly. “So what
we gonna do?” I grunted. “Go round loads of girl's shops?”
“Is that what you'd
like to do?” Mum asked in a cheerful tone
“No!” I retorted.
“Oh.” Mum replied,
pretending she was disappointed. “Well in that case, you'll be glad
to hear that we're going to a petticoating shop.” she informed me,
adding that only in such a shop would we find some dresses as nice as
the ones Peter has.
I didn't have anything
to say on the matter, apart from 'blue' when Mum asked me if I
preferred pink or blue. She drove into the centre of town and right
out the other side. “Where we going?” I quizzed as we left the
town centre behind us. “That'll take hours!” I whined when she
told me that we're going to Brighton.
“Hence me not wanting
you spending all morning watching TV.” Mum replied.
We drove through part
of the New Forest, past Southampton and Fareham before taking the
slower yet more scenic coastal route. I kept forgetting why just we
were going to Brighton and mostly enjoyed the journey. It only really
dawned on me after we'd parked the car and found the shop. “This'll
be it.” Mum said, pointing out a very pink shop across the road.
“Angelic Pretty?” I
read from the sign. “I've got a bad feeling about this.” I thought
as we crossed the road and headed towards it. I recoiled at the
dresses in the window. The only other time I've seen such horrendous
designs was in Peter's room all those months ago. I can hardly
believe that here I am, going to buy something similar so I can
attend his birthday party.
Inside, the shop
stretched much further back than expected and it's laid out in partitioned sections, making it feel more like lots of little shops
rather than one big shop. One section would be all purple and lilac
things, another is all white, some have all rabbit, teddy bear or
kitten designs and another is dedicated to Hello Kitty stuff. Towards
the back is a pink and blue section, which Mum pays more attention to
since I'd apparently like a blue dress, but I'm not being very
helpful when she tries to find one I like. There's also a completely
blue section in which I spot something that doesn't look too bad.
It's one of those old fashioned sailor style
dresses in navy blue with no satin, no frilly stuff and no bows hanging all over
it, just some white stripes around its big square sailor style collar.
“Well it's nice.”
Mum said. “And I'm sure it'd look lovely, but it's not really a
party dress is it?”
“I don't know.” I
replied. “I just like it better than all the other stuff in here.”
I said as I cast my eyes around the items on display. In addition to
the prissy dresses were some short suits similar to that Peter wore
on the day I visited him. Although absolutely fucking horrible, they
too didn't look quite as bad as many of the dresses, so I suggested
one of those (but not in a girlie colour). Again, Mum said they were
nice but for a party I need a party dress.
I was surprised at just
how big the shop was on the inside, and was doubly surprised when I
realised that there's also an upper floor. If the ground floor was
scary viewing for a boy, then the upstairs put the fear of God in me.
Not only does it have a huge selection of the girliest footwear
you've ever seen, it also has underwear and sleepwear too. We had a
quick browse upstairs before Mum said that we need to find me a dress
before we start choosing underwear and footwear. “I don't want
underwear!” I blurted.
“Please don't raise
your voice to me John.” Mum said. I quietly apologised before
quietly telling her that I neither want nor need any of that
underwear. “If you don't have nice underwear too, you'll only be
half dressed.” she told me. I suggested that my own boy's undies
would do, but Mum said it most certainly would not 'do'. “You need
'nice' underwear.” she informed me. “Now are you going to help me
choose a dress or shall I just choose one for you?”
I shrugged and said
they all looked horrible. Mum asked if that means I want her to chose
one for me. “Well I can't choose one... I hate them all.” I
replied. “So long as it's not pink or something.” I said. Mum
suggested finding me a nice blue one and I agreed, before reminding
her about the sailor style one that looked OK.
“Nice as it is, it's
not really a party dress.” she replied. “But if you'd really like
it, I don't mind buying it as well as a party dress.”
“No it's OK.” I
replied. The last thing I want is two dresses! We must have spent a
whole hour slowly browsing the entire ground floor again. Mum held
numerous options against me, which was embarrassing enough, but I
almost had a heart attack when she suggested I needed to try one on.
“Please don't make me try them on Mum... not here!”
“We need to make sure
it fits properly.” Mum said, “It's a long drive back if it
doesn't.” she reminded me. Her eyes gazed beyond me and she said
“Oh now that one looks nice!” as something caught her eye. I
turned to see as Mum marched towards it and predictably I claimed it
was 'horrible'.
“It's beautiful!”
she gushed. “And it's blue... you wanted a blue one didn't you?”
she said as she held it against me. Previous suggestions I'd
dismissed because I didn't like the sash or the short puffy sleeves
or the shiny satin fabric, and since this dress has none of those, my
mother has deemed it 'perfect' for me!
Mum beckoned one of the
assistants over and I found myself being briskly led to a changing
booth. I barely had chance to protest before my T shirt was whipped
off my back, and finding my pants around my ankles within seconds
meant it was far too late to make a run for it. With only my
underpants and socks on, the assistant helf the dress open for me and
my mother told me to raise my arms. I did as I was told and quickly
found it floating around me. “It's too short.” I moaned as my
trembling fingertips unwillingly found its hem.
“Nonsense.” my
mother said as she stood back and admired me. “Turn around and see
what you think.”
I knew there was a big
mirror behind me and the last thing I wanted to do was to turn and
face it. I felt the assistant's hands on my shoulders and they gently
turned me around. My reflection is half legs, half dress, with my
gormless face perched on top. I reiterated that it's far too short,
but my mother responded by asking the assistant if the same style is
available in pink. “If you don't stop whining John I'll buy you a
pink one instead.” she threatened. It worked and I stopped whining.
Then the assistant said she'd show my mother how it fastened and
began routing up my back, lifting my dress right up as she fastened
some straps around my chest. “Oh I see.” Mum said in her
intrigued voice. “That's clever.” she added as the assistant
explained that the fastening is designed to prevent self-removal. Mum
turned me around and smiled as she looked me up and down. She
reiterated how beautiful it was as she pointed out the embroidery on
the outer layer. “Aren't all these little bow motifs sweet?” she
said.
I don't think my mother
expected me to offer an answer and she didn't seem to mind when I
remained silent. She let go of my dress and said “Right, shall we
go and find some nice shoes and underwear to go with it?”
I knew this bit was
coming so had resigned myself to the fact we'd be heading back
upstairs. What I hadn't expected was not being allowed to put my own
clothes on first! Feeling half naked, I trotted through the shop and
up the stairs wearing only the dress, my underpants and my socks. The
shop wasn't busy but it wasn't empty either and all eyes were on me
as I passed them by. The staff smiled, as did the adult customers...
but the youngsters who accompanied them looked at me with pitiful
eyes. Some, like Peter are already petticoated. Others, like me are
wearing normal boy's clothes... but also like me, maybe for not much
longer.
With help from the
assistant, Mum chose me the worst pair of knickers I've ever seen.
They're white with a huge love heart on the front that's outlined
with frilly pale blue lace. The legs and waistband are trimmed with
white elastic lace and on the centre of the waistband, just above the
'v' of the love heart is a pale blue satin bow. Mum tells me they're
gorgeous and takes great delight in showing me the rows of ruffled
pale blue lace that cover the bum. “Please don't get me those Mum.”
I begged.
Mum tells me that if I
don't like my blue dress, then she can always get me the pink one
instead. “Which means pink and white knickers just like these
ones.” she added.
I conceded and agreed
to sticking with blue. Mum chooses me a little white vest also with
pale blue lacy trim which, compared to the knickers, is relatively
understated. But things soon got worse as she spent several
uncomfortable minutes choosing me a suspender belt. Initially I
didn't know what they were for and I wish I hadn't asked. “To hold
your stockings up.” she told me. She found one with satin bows over
each of the clips in the same shade of pale blue and heeded the
assistants advice and bought me a pack of three pairs of white
stockings that consisted of a plain 30 denier pair, a two 15 denier
pairs; one with little love hearts on and one with little bows on,
just like those on my dress. In the footwear section she took my
socks from me and chose me a suitably prissy pair of shoes, made me
try them on. I reluctantly agreed to having the pale blue ballet
shoes which also have a bow detail on the toe as I feared I'd only
end up with heels if I didn't. I also wanted this ordeal to be over
with sooner rather than later and footwear is the last thing on the
list. Or so I thought! No. It turns out that I also need something
for my hair and a handbag. Of course I tried to get out of having to
have a handbag too, but Mum told me I needed one. “What for?” I
asked. Mum told me it's so I've got something to keep my 'things' in.
“What things?” I whined. When she listed a spare pair of
stockings and a clean pair of knickers, a handkerchief and 'maybe' a
lipstick and vanity mirror, I reminded her that this is all only for
a few hours. “I won't need any of that stuff for one party.” I
claimed.
“Well it's better to
have and not need than to need and not have.” she replied. Choosing
my handbag was easy as there was only one that features the same
shade of blue as my dress. I recalled seeing a similar one in Peter's
bedroom as I tried it on (i.e. slung it over my shoulder and let it
hang on my hip). Choosing something for my hair took a lot longer.
Mum put numerous head bands, hair bands, hair slides and hair clips
on me before settling on a pair of slides with a pale blue satin bow
on each. Mum thanked the assistant for their help, before handing
over all our purchases. “I think John will have the embroidery
option too.” she said, before taking me and my dress back to the
changing room on the ground floor.
The only good thing
that's happened since I stepped inside this ghastly shop named
Angelic Pretty is the fact that my mother let me change back into my
own clothes. I carried the big pink branded bags back to the car and
a group of kids yelled “Hey look he's been to Angelic Pretty... woo
hoo hooo!” They laughed and pointed and teased me. Mum told me to
take no notice and told me that they're just the sort of boys who
need to be petticoated.
“I don't think anyone
'needs' it.” I said. “Especially people like me and Peter who've
done nothing wrong.” I mumbled as I got in the car. Mum didn't
reply to my point, but she did ask if I was hungry and suggested KFC,
McDonalds, a pizza maybe, “Or fish and chips by the sea?” she
suggested.
I was hungry but didn't
really have an appetite. My tummy is in knots as I try to come to
terms with all the things I've just been bought, and the thought of
actually wearing them on Tuesday is something beyond. I wonder if
Peter's been to Angelic Pretty and assume that he has. Probably on
numerous occasions, I think as I recall his rail full of dresses. I
stare out of the window towards the sea and try to think of other
things as we take the slow coastal route back to Fareham. Here, we
stop for fish and chips and eat alfresco on a bench overlooking
Portsmouth harbour. “Are you looking forward to Peter's party on
Tuesday?” Mum asked.
“Not really.” I
replied.
“Well just remember
that it's not about you, it's about Peter... it's his birthday so I
want you to be nice not whine and moan about having to wear a dress
the whole time.” she advised. “Tuesday will be the first time
you've had to wear a dress, but if your behaviour and attitude is
anything other than positive, it certainly won't be the last... do
you understand.” she asked. I gulped and said I did. Mum took the big pink
carrier bag from me the moment we entered our home. I wasn't sure
what she'd done with it but was relieved to find the dress not
hanging in my wardrobe or the knickers in my underwear drawer.
I didn't see the clothes again until Tuesday afternoon when I arrived home from school and found the dress hanging from my wardrobe door. Its presence stopped me in my tracks and I did nothing but gorp at it for moment. “I've run you bath John.” Mum chirped as she appeared behind me. Just as she'd done on Saturday, my mother scrubbed me from head to toe with a luffa before letting me sponge myself. I towelled myself dry, wrapped it around me and sauntered slowly to my room. Not only did the dress hang menacingly from my wardrobe door, but my new underwear lay in wait on my bed with my mother hovering over it. “Did you talc?” she asked.
“Sorry what?” I
muttered, too preoccupied with the lacy undies on my bed to properly
listen. Mum took me back to the bathroom, took my towel from me and
made me apply a dusting of fragrant talcum powder with a big fluffy
'puff', as she called it. Back in my room, she sat me down and rolled
the stockings up my legs. As the stretched over my legs, their
pattern became apparent; just like the outer layer on my dress,
they're peppered with tiny white bows. She stands me up and pulls
them all the way to the tops of my legs, before asking me to pass her
my suspender belt.
When all these items
were purchased, my head was spinning and I didn't really pay heed
when Mum told the assistant that 'John will go for the embroidery
option'. Now I understand as in sizeable ornate embroidery, in the
middle of the large love heart on the front of my knickers is the
word John. I gulped but said nothing as I picked up the suspender
belt with trembling fingers and passed it to my mother. “Thank
you.” she chirped before fastening it around my waist and clipping
the four straps to the tops of my stockings, thus holding them in
place. I suggested that maybe a pair of tights would have been easier
than all this stockings and suspender faff. “You should have said
if you wanted tights instead.” Mum replied as she fastened the
final suspender clip. “I'm not a mind reader you know.” she added
with a smile. With a heavy heart, I picked up the knickers and
stepped in to them. They looked worse on me than they did on the bed,
and with my name elegantly embroidered on the front, there's no
denying that they're mine. The gap between the lace trimmed leg holes
and the tops of my stockings is minimal and the satin bows on the
suspender clips only add to just how prissy and sissy my underwear
looks. These, along with the bow on the waistband of my knickers form
the three corners of a triangle and seem to frame the big frilly love
heart, which itself frames my very own name. I bet even girls don't
have their name on their knickers. I pull in the little vest and Mum
steps back to admire me. “You look so nice in your new undies it's
a shame to cover them up.” she said as she took hold of my dress.
To be honest, donning the dress and hiding my underwear came as a
great relief. My mother told me how nice I look before turning me
around and routing inside my dress for the straps so she could fasten
it properly. Since it hangs from my shoulders, I can't see the point
of this additional internal fastening around my chest, and being an
inquisitive type, I asked about it. “It's to stop you from taking
your dress off.” Mum told me.
“But I'll have to
take it off at bedtime!” I retort.
“You will.” Mum
replied. “But without my help that won't happen.” she added.
After slipping my feet
into my shoes, my mother slipped the two hair slides into my hair and
announced that I was almost ready. She removed an item from her
pocket and looked me in the eye as she removed its lid and twisted it
to reveal a glistening pale pink lipstick. “No... please Mum.. not
lipstick too!” I begged.
My mother smiled and
told me that on top of my nice new undies and my pretty blue dress, a
little bit of lipstick isn't going to make any difference. “And
whilst you're petticoated, you'll call me Mummy, not Mum.” she added.
“Whaaat?” I gasped.
“You heard me.” Mum
said, “Now what do you call me?” she asked. She asked me several
times and issued several threats before I eventually uttered the word
Mummy. “Good boy.” she said. “Now let's see how this shade
looks.” she smiled before showing me how to apply the lipstick.
“That looks lovely.” she gushed. “Where's your handbag?”
“I don't know!” I
muttered. Mum gave me one of those looks, before suggesting a nicer
way in which I could reply to her. After several hints, I swallowed my
pride and mumbled “I don't know Mummy.”
“Maybe it's in your
wardrobe?”
Maybe it is. I
sheepishly opened its doors and saw the pale blue round leather
handbag hanging there. I reluctantly removed it, but noticed
something else in there what shouldn't be. “You seemed so taken by
it I just had to buy it for you.” my mother said as I gorped at the
navy blue sailor dress.
“What for?” I
whined. “I only need one dress and that's for Peter's party.”
“Like I said, you
were so taken buy it, I just had to buy it for you.” she reiterated
before encouraging me to thank her properly.
“Thank you Mummy.”
I muttered.
“I do hope you're not
going to mumble and mutter your words at Peter's house.” she said.
“It doesn't sound very nice when you talk like that.” she added
as her eyes dropped to the handbag dangling from my hand. “Now
you'll need your lipstick and the vanity.” Mum said, adding that
the 'vanity' is the small mirror I'd just used. “A spare pair of
stockings and a clean pair of knickers..” she added as her hand
delved into her pocket, “...and here's a handkerchief for you.”
she said, passing me a white cotton hanky trimmed with pale blue
lace. After fumbling with the handbag's fastening, I finally got it
open. I began putting the lipstick, mirror and hanky inside but Mum
said I should think about what I'm likely to need.
“I don't know what
you mean.” I whined. Mum told me that I wasn't likely to need my
clean knickers so they should go in first, followed by my spare
stockings. “Then you wont have to root for your lipstick and vanity
because those will be on top.” she said, before informing me that
I'd find my spare stockings and clean knickers in my drawer.
I pulled open my drawer
and saw several pairs of lacy 'love heart' knickers embroidered with
my name laying there. Next to these are the two remaining boxes from
my variety pack of stockings. I asked which one I should take since
one pair is thick and plain, and the other is thin and decorated with
love hearts. “Whichever you like.” my mother advised. I grabbed
the thicker plain pair, before reluctantly reaching for the knickers;
almost identical to those I'm wearing only the blue lace trim and
satin bow are a darker shade of blue. Beneath these is another pair,
the very same style but with yellow trim. And beneath those I spy a
tiny hint of pink, but I don't dare delve any further. With my
handbag locked and loaded, I hang it across my shoulder and it rests
on my hip in the folds of my dress. Mum steps back and looks me up
and down. “Oh you do look lovely John.” my mother gushed.
“Peter's going to be so pleased that you decided to wear a dress
for his party!”
You have a habit of ending stories too early -for my liking is that to keep me checking back for more ??
ReplyDeleteI would love to know if John went to Peters house for Peters birthday and if John did go did he wear a dress ??
I know I certainly would have made John do both.
Also was john Petticoated after Peters birthday party ??
You can safely assume that john did go to the party wearing a dress... the last few paragraphs describe John getting ready to go the the party and the story ends just as he's about to be driven there (I'll have to re-read to make sure this is clear!).
DeleteI quite like ending on a bit of a cliff hanger (otherwise they tend to become the never ending story), but i know it can be a bit of a wind-up for the reader. There may be a second part... but you'll just have to wait and see :)
I hope that Peter's mummy recounts in some detail how he was introduced to and conditioned to regular petticoating and John's mummy takes her cue from her story and commences regular petticoat sessions for her son
ReplyDeleteYou seem to have run out of inspiration PJ. Nothing new for months. When can we expect a new story?
ReplyDeleteNot exactly run out of inspiration... just struggling to finish and publish the stories i start. I hope to get a short one out soon.
DeleteYou can't see Portsmouth harbour from Farnham !
ReplyDeleteYou're right... and I misspelt Fareham :)
DeleteLove your sweet stories.
ReplyDeleteJust found your very nice blog. Enjoyed reading this story.
ReplyDeleteThank you Larry... there's plenty more stories to get your teeth into, plus my caption corner blog. Enjoy :)
DeleteSuper storys that hit the right spot lol
ReplyDeleteThat's a nice story. Poor John will likely be in dresses more often after the birthday party and will enjoy being petticoated in the future. Surely his mother will buy him other marvelous dresses soon.
ReplyDelete